


The Real Thing

by scorpiobabylon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Androids, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Belly Kink, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Come Inflation, Come Swallowing, Depression, Dubious Consent, Ethical Dilemmas, Eventual Romance, Forced Prostitution, Gratuitous Smut, It/Its Pronouns for Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Knotting, M/M, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, References to Depression, References to Knotting, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Rutting, Sex Robots, Sex Work, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Suicidal Thoughts, The romance is slow burn and the fucking is immediate, Unpaid Labor should be a tag, immediate smut, pronouns will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiobabylon/pseuds/scorpiobabylon
Summary: There it was.Dressed more for a proper first date than a week-long fuck-fest, but there it was. Looking just like the picture, in a jacket and tie, standing straight as a board. “Hello.” It said. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife to assist you in your rut.”





	The Real Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter work featuring gratuitous smut. More tags to be added. There will be quieter chapters with fluff, angst, and actual address of the ethical quandaries set up by the premise. They'll fall in great big love, I promise.

The whole circus was fucked.

Getting the nerve to order the thing was a journey in and of itself, and then there was the paperwork that came when Hank stupidly selected ‘yes’ when asked if he’d like a super-special prototype. So extra special that it required a goddamn _background check_. Having the Cyberlife mail-order-mate site in his web history already felt like too much, but then they were sending hard-copy information requests to his house and Hank knew he was too deep in the shit to swim to shore. The rotating banner on the home page, _Bonding Guaranteed, Mate of Your Dreams, Get Yours Today_ , mocked him with its garish color palette and fat fonts. The digital pamphlet which landed on Hank’s doorstep to sign was even worse, the vacant eyes of the omega model photographed on the page opposite ‘privacy’ leaving him exposed to the bone. The fuck ever happened to privacy, anyway? What happened to intimacy? What happened to the Hank that could form a connection, that could draw courtship out nice and slow, could keep a human being in his life?

This Hank didn’t want a mate. Couldn’t fathom being responsible to another person. Show up for them emotionally, _offer something_? He could trick someone into his bed for the duration of his rut, but ethical hangups stopped him before he took that fantasy too far. Not fair to that unlucky omega, not fair to himself. Hank had needs he wasn’t gonna burden anyone with.

Did a no-strings-attached omega exist that just wanted to fuck? Probably. Did they want to watch Hank drink until he could cry and cry until he wore himself out? No. That shit was typically reserved for someone who accepted him for the long-haul, and Hank was in no mood for unconditional love.

He considered hiring a human prostitute. He had no problem with sex workers, even when his line of work dictated that he was supposed to. If they wanted to make a buck and weren’t hurting anybody, who was he to pass judgement? It was just that he had a tendency to _project_ judgement. A human being doing a service, performing emotional labor for profit, had it in them to think things about Hank. Pity him, even hate him. Hank was too goddamn fragile to bear it, even found himself preferring android staff at restaurants. Programmed to hinge on his happiness and satisfaction. Creepy, awful, in lieu of a breathing person who needed work, but fundamentally incapable of seeing Hank how he saw himself.

So, with his yearly rut approaching, he found himself jumping through hoops to get one of these Cyberlife omega-bots delivered. Temporarily-- it abso-fucking-lutely had to be temporary. The prototype, the one he had to provide his records for, had the perfect caveat; it wasn’t available to keep even if Hank changed his mind. It would stay with him to care for his biological needs as long as they persisted, then get carted back to the omega-robot warehouse. Dream house. Whatever.

Filling out the online surveys, submitting his forms, sending out his signature, dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s, all in all, the shit show took a week. By the time it was all over and his order was finalized, Hank’s rut had already started. He stood in a DPD training shirt and pajama bottoms-- the only comfortable clothing options when his body did this to him-- and leaned over his kitchen table, bent at the waist as he stared at the omega he’d selected. There were model preferences available for user adjustment; male or female, body type, eye color, yadda yadda… Or, for the lazier alpha, pre-constructed options. Hank had decided to give them a casual look-see, and ended up choosing the very first face he saw with startling immediacy. He could say what he wanted about the perverts at Cyberlife-- and he did, frequently-- but they knew what they were doing when they designed this thing. Sweet brown eyes, strong cheeks, a single lock of hair brushing its forehead. It moved on his screen in a short video loop, gently raising its eyebrows and blinking. A lot subtler than a puppy pawing against glass, but god damn did it tug at Hank’s heartstrings.

Connor. Hank stared at his laptop screen and palmed at himself through his pajama bottoms as he waited for _Connor_. Where the fuck was it? He’d gotten a notification in the afternoon that he was approved, totally kosher for getting his robot delivered, and then nothing. Was it gonna materialize in his bed? Was he supposed to wait in front of the mailbox? It was nearly ten PM, was it gonna ring his goddamn--

The doorbell buzzed, setting off a _buh-wu-wu-wu_ from Sumo. Hank twisted towards the door, face scrunched up in disbelief. Thing had fingers, didn’t it? Made sense that it could push a button. He huffed as he straightened himself out and made his way to the door, brushing down the front of his T-shirt as if it made any difference. He was in his grubbies, smelled like rut, and an erection he’d tried to curb by getting off just twenty minutes earlier was obscenely obvious at the front of his pants. Hank looked as gross as he felt. All he could do was hope it wasn’t a neighbor looking for milk and open the door up.

There it was.

Dressed more for a proper first date than a week-long fuck-fest, but there it was. Looking just like the picture, in a jacket and tie, standing straight as a board. “Hello.” It said. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife to assist you in your rut.”

Hank’s brow furrowed. He glanced to the street, on the lookout for the clown car. He didn’t speak, but his mouth hung open as he stepped aside to let it in. Connor went ahead, taking a look at its surroundings. It tilted its head, leaning in to speak.

“What would you prefer I call you?”

Hank closed his mouth at that, frowning now. “Daddy.” He instructed as a joke, just to test the waters with this thing.

“Alright, daddy.” Connor parroted pleasantly, moving into the living room to crouch by Sumo and let him sniff his hand. Hank balked.

“No-- Jesus, don’t call me that. Stop. Undo.” Hank threw his hands up, making a placating motion with open palms. “Just call me Hank.”

“Okay, Hank.” Connor agreed just as easily, giving Sumo a pat on the head. Lazy lug was too big to be bothered to go to the door, just to bark when the buzzer sounded.

Hank watched suspiciously as the android interacted with his dog. Probably part of a new-place protocol; neutralize threats, make friends with animals. He’d allow it, for now. “As if your goddamn survey wasn’t specific enough. You don’t think I’ve answered enough questions? _‘Do I want my Cyberlife omega to tell me it loves me while we’re copulating’?_ ”

“You answered yes.” Connor informed him, straightening up and stepping in his direction. Before Hank could start griping again, it sniffed the air in a way which was too overt not to be distracting. “-- You’ve begun your rut. I’d like to be of assistance.” It took another step towards Hank, and he backed away this time. He held his hands up again, defending himself against… The thing he’d ordered.

“Assist me in the bedroom. Don’t want you grabbin’ me in front of my dog.” Hank rationalized, sighing as he took a look down the short hallway. He began his trek, assuming the robot would follow him. When he arrived at his bed and sat down, he was pleased to see that it had.

Connor stood in the doorway a moment before entering and closing the door. It looked down at its uniform, seemingly as puzzled as Hank as to why it was dressed like this. Thing’s main function was to be naked, wasn’t it? Why give it a tie?

“Need help there, Connor?” Hank grunted, not making any move to get off the bed. He was already taking his own shirt off, way too hot not to start undressing at the first opportunity.

“No. Thank you, Hank.” Connor returned. It undressed efficiently, nimble fingers loosening its tie and moving down the row of buttons holding its shirt together. The jacket came off, then its pants. Connor was taking clothes off-- Hank had his T-shirt covering his eyes for a second as he pulled it over his head-- and the next moment Connor was nude. Its things were in the neatest goddamn pile Hank had ever seen, placed gingerly on his dresser. Perfect shoes were placed on the floor with the socks tucked away inside.

Connor was gorgeous. Obviously, an ideal specimen for mating. Hank had somehow expected a more uncanny caricature of an omega, but Connor struck him more as a believably lovely person. Something like a swimmer’s build; slim, muscular without all the obscene rippling. Sturdy in the shoulders. Some dusting of hair on its belly, and proper pubic hair to frame a perfect cock. He _hadn’t_ requested circumcised, but wasn’t gonna complain. He _had_ specified ‘don’t send me a goddamn dolphin’ on the grooming and hygiene section of the survey.

Hank hummed in appreciation for not being sent something hairless and squeaky. “Wonders of technology.” He muttered, and Connor seemed to like that, smiling as it made its way to the bed and smoothed a palm over Hank’s chest. Their first contact. Connor’s skin was soft, and Hank regretted the involuntary flinch that came with expecting it to be cold.

Hank was still hesitant, but the way the android was examining his tattoo had him curious. Connor looked interested, expression soft as its spinning light shone blue. It leaned in, doing that overt scenting thing again, inhaling like it was standing over a pot of soup. It already knew where Hank was at, hormonally speaking, why the fuck was it doing that? Then it was planting kisses, starting at Hank’s chest and trailing down his front.

It felt… Nice. Connor’s lips were warm, and he moved with such deliberacy that Hank couldn’t help feeling like he had to be at least a little special. Assholes don’t get this kinda treatment, do they? Connor licked at the trail of hair on his belly.

“Oh.” Hank murmured, blowing out an exhale as he took in the view. Connor’s hair was impossibly neat, with the deliberate exception of his little wave. It was a treat to see it up close, when Hank had fixated on it in Connor’s photo. He’d noticed moles on its face-- now he got to see all the dots on its shoulders and what he could glimpse of its back. Connor’s body was perfect, of course, but the detail was really astounding.

The android sunk to its knees and helped Hank out of his pajama bottoms, taking a moment to nuzzle against the inside of his thigh before looking up.

It smiled slightly, like it was testing out how to do so, then popped its mouth open and started sucking Hank off.

Hank couldn’t help the grateful groan that escaped him. “Oh, my god...” He mumbled, carding his fingers through Connor’s short brown hair and squeezing. What he _needed_ was to knot inside an omega, but the better and better the android’s tongue felt on his dick, the more Hank realized he wouldn’t have lasted long trying to actually fuck. He intended to give this thing a proper pounding at the very first opportunity, and it just wasn’t gonna happen with this erection. Blowjob was smarter.

Connor took him all the way down, batting long lashes at Hank as it showed off its deepthroating trick. Apparently, it took a robot without a gag reflex to swallow Hank like that, with how he was hung. He’d never seen the entire thing disappear like that.

“Jesus.” He muttered, rough voice dropping even lower. “Oh, fuck. Look at you.” His breathing was getting heavier. That darling piece of stray hair bounced as Connor bobbed his head. “Oh, fuck. Are you--? Ugh.” Hank gripped Connor’s hair tighter. It wrapped a fist around the base of his cock and started working him off, lavishing attention on the sensitive head with its wet tongue.

“I’m gonna come in your mouth if y--” Hank started, and the android stared at him, fingers doing all the work as it spoke.

“Would you prefer to come somewhere else?”

“Open up.” Hank instructed, and it dropped its jaw, tongue out like it was catching snowflakes. It stroked him off persistently, thumbing the slit and angling him into his mouth. Shouldda added a blinking banner that said _deposit here_ , Cyberlife really missed out on--

Hank gasped, shooting semen against Connor’s tongue and getting a good jolt of pleasure. Orgasms during a rut had to be wrung out to get to the good stuff, but first climax with an actual partner present was something to celebrate. Meant the best was on its way. He sighed, experiencing some relief for the first time all day.

The android licked its lips, swallowing as it awaited further instructions. None came; Hank dropped back against the bed, bringing his feet up and laying down, needing a moment to recuperate.

Connor stood and headed for the door. Hank propped himself up on an elbow to squint.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

Connor stopped, looking over one shoulder, eyebrows raised. “I was going to rinse my mouth before I proceeded with kissing you.”

“Oh.” Hank pursed his lips, settling back in. “Don’t need to do that.” He admitted with a shrug. He truly didn’t mind, but more so didn’t want Connor out of his sights just yet. The android changed course, moving back to the bed and crawling over Hank. It lay on him like the world’s most expensive weighted blanket and leaned in for a kiss.

Hank kissed Connor nice and slow. That just-gave-head taste was present, but he liked it. Connor’s mouth was such a kissable shape, it was a mystery whe he didn’t just do this at the door. It hummed-- oh, it made little noises while it was being kissed. Jesus. Hank pet down Connor’s silky smooth back, just giving its body some touching before he cradled its head and opened his mouth to kiss deeper.

Hank fell asleep in increments. Making out got lazier and lazier until Connor was left with an unresponsive alpha beneath him.

He sat up. Watched Hank sleep a moment, monitored his breathing. The human was hard again, such was his state for the week, but Connor chose not to tend to it until he woke up. He carefully moved away from him, stepping off the bed.

Nudity was no issue to Connor, but wandering the house fully naked might not be acceptable, were Hank to wake and discover him. He chose to step into his black underwear, deciding that was satisfactory.

He quietly left the bedroom.


End file.
